


Hold Me Closer

by melancholy_scorpio1



Category: American (US) Actor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29461692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melancholy_scorpio1/pseuds/melancholy_scorpio1
Summary: (Originally requested on Tumblr) Ballerina!reader x Timothée where she has to prepare for a show in NY & Timothée helps her practice even though he says he isn’t that great at it which reader thinks otherwise. They practice & when the day finally comes he’s in the front row cheering her on. When the shows over they walk out to greet fans who ask her questions/sign autographs & she gushes over how Timothée is her biggest supporter.
Relationships: Timothee Chalamet/Ballerina!Reader, Timothée Chalamet/Reader, Timothée Chalamet/You
Kudos: 5





	Hold Me Closer

She’s like nothing he’s ever seen.

Fluid motions, pointed toes, perfectly placed hands. She expresses herself through the music she seems at one with. Gentle steps with quiet violins, dramatic movements with a whole orchestra, and everything in-between. She’s too focused to even notice he’s there. 

Timothée doesn’t want her to notice him there, he loves to watch her dance. He’s been caught watching a few times - mainly when he should have been reading a script - but she often gets too embarrassed to continue in the confines of his flat. Yet now, when she’s on her own and he can see the concentration in her face, and he feels the pride he always feels, he is willing to stay peeking through the tiny window in the door for a bit longer. 

How talented she is. He’s only seen parts of what she’s dancing - parts of her dancing full stop - and the emotions she makes him feel are sometimes ones foreign to him. She manages to make his imagination see what she and the music are showing wordlessly, and it’s a truly magical experience. 

In a moment of luck, she catches him peeking through the window and loses her concentration to giggles. She then beckons him in with a wave of her hand and moves to turn the music off from the speaker by her phone. Damnit. He can’t help but laugh with her as he pushes the door open, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s not really sorry and they both know it; she doesn’t seem to mind, instead jumping into his arms and knowing that he will always catch her. 

“You’re only sorry you got caught,” Her voice is muffled by his shoulder, which she’s buried her face in, all too thankful for his visit. Timothee doesn’t worry about dropping her, with her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, and neither does she. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

“Thank you for letting me see you, pretty girl. You looked amazing, by the way,” A light movement resembling a shy laugh and she lifts her head to kiss him quickly and gently. He’s used to these kisses; shy, tender and fast. It only makes the others, the ones full of love and passion, even more special. 

“Are you here to help me?”

It’s his turn to laugh: the only dancing he’s ever done in his life is in the shower or in the kitchen, completely off-guard and unimportant. That’s absolutely nothing compared to the beautiful movements of ballet which she manages to pull off so well. “I can’t dance.”

“I beg to differ, young man. It just takes practice,” Full of energy that she always seems to have before shows, she jumps off him with a happy cry. “I don’t mean dancing, anyway.”

She hesitates to expand, leaving him wondering what she meant. “What do you need my help with, then? Growing vegetables?” Another laugh from her, one that’s only one syllable long but effective at making him crack a grin. He loves her laugh. 

“I want your opinion. You’re still an audience, only you’re an audience that I can bounce ideas off. I need help with my routine,” She wanders around the dance hall practicing various moves to burn off some energy, and he tries to stay out of her way by sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. 

A moment of concern hits him. “You’ve had your routine planned for ages, haven’t you?”

“Yes, of course I have. And I’m not changing any dance moves, per se, just the order of them. Do you mind if I -”

“You can use and abuse me, I’m all yours.” 

* 

She practices for hours. After a few re-runs have the original routine, then the new routine, then another, she decides it’s too late to change the routine and sticks with the original. As time passes, bringing the time her show was going to start nearer, the bubbling excitement simmered to exasperated nerves. 

“Baby, I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t mean it. The routine is perfect,” She starts to pack up an hour before the show, needing to get a shower and eat. She picks up her hoodie and throws it roughly into her gym bag, humming to the song of her performance and no doubt going through the moves in her head. 

“I need to get this right Tim. This is my biggest audience to date, this means a lot to my future,” She switches off the speaker and unplugs it, grabs her phone and her bottle, and joins him where he’s waiting for her, in the doorway of the exit. Just hours ago he’d been peeking through the window. 

“I know, and I know you will,” As she passes him to leave through the door, he catches her hand and pulls her to a stop. She refuses to meet his eyes; she’s too distracted, instead taking to looking at the floor. Hooking two fingers underneath her chin, he moves her head upwards, forcing her to look him in the eye. Tense shoulders relax almost instantly. Only he can have this reaction on her. “I believe in you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” A peck on the lips and a quick cuddle is all she can spare him, but it’s enough to calm her down. 

* 

In her own words, Timothee has never looked smarter in anything else he’s ever worn, deciding on a simple black tuxedo, white shirt and black tie. She tied the tie, insisting he could never do it correctly - He rarely has to wear a tie, he argued, that’s why he can’t do it himself. 

The last time he sees her she slips off backstage, needing to get dressed and ready to go. She’s nervous - not angry-nervous, like she had been an hour ago, but a timid nervousness that makes her quiet and withdrawn. Anything he says goes unheard, as she’s too busy in her head to concentrate on the outside world. 

She loves to dance. He’s known her long enough now to know she loves dance more than she loves a lot of things in her life. There was a period where she’d thought of stopping and pursuing a more academic career - she had the brains to do it - but ballet was where her heart was. 

The room around him starts to fill up with people, an excited buzz brought with them, quickly flooding the room with loud chatter. His stomach starts to churn as the clock ticks down to when the show is meant to start; he has faith that she will do amazingly, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling anxious for her.

His heart leaps when the lights dim to darkness, and the once busy room may as well be empty with how silent it is. All attention is on the stage, waiting for movement - waiting for anything. The curtains fall to the sides, and… there she is. 

His girl. His beautiful and amazing girl. Dressed in the purest colour of white he’s ever seen, taking centre stage with other dancers around her. They fade into the background but somehow accentuate her performance, and she pours everything into making it the most beautiful he’s seen her perform it. 

She’s beautiful. Everything about her and the way she dances the routine is beautiful. Every single step, every single movement, as graceful and as elegant as he knows it should be. The way she dances it, on the stage, lit up by a spotlight, is the best he’s seen her dance it. How talented she is. 

It seems others feel the same. When the performance is over, the lights shine bright in the room and she bows to the audience, people are cheering and praising her more than they ever have. Some are crying - some are just clapping as loud as they can. One rose onto the stage turns to many, and she carefully picks up a few to show her thanks. 

The pride he felt for her before the show has doubled, trebled, after seeing her up there, in front of so many people, do a better job than ever before. Once everyone has filtered out of the auditorium he sneaks backstage, following the directions of the other cast members to find her.

The atmosphere is electric around her, and she can’t keep still. He runs into her accidentally, and after babbling a sorry she is in his arms, ranting excitedly about how well it went.

“I nearly fell, but I didn’t! Oh, did you see the lady in the front? She was crying, bless her, and I didn’t get the bit in the middle mixed up!”

“You did amazingly, Y/N, I knew you would,” She kisses him over and over, on his eyes, lips, nose, forehead, everywhere she can get to, the adrenaline still rushing through her. “I’m so in love with you.”

“I love you too!” She squeaks, holding his hands in a grip he doesn’t want to escape. He starts to dance with her, going round and round in circles in the middle of the communal area, laughing like mad people. “The girls are going to celebrate, I think we’re going for some drinks. Do you want to join us?”

He doesn’t hesitate to say no. “You go with them, and we’ll celebrate separately later, how does that sound?” 

“We don’t mind you tagging along Tim,” One of the girls, is it Tara? Insists on the way into her changing room. He considers it, he loves to spend time with her after a show. 

“No, I’ll pass. You have a good night with the girls, and I’ll be waiting for you at home. Promise,” She reaches up on her tip-toes and presses her lips to his, in one of those passionate and bruising kisses he loves so much. He wants to keep her there - come home with me, let me show you how proud I am of you - but it’s over too soon. 

“You don’t mind?” The last stage before she leaves him, where she worries he might be keeping something from her. Behind her content and blissful eyes hides a hint of concern. 

“Of course I don’t.” She’s happy to go, then. He stays with her when she’s getting ready, enjoying the banter-filled stories of her rehearsals from her friends, and leaves hand-in-hand out the back door.

It’s here they are greeted by a group of fans, and for a second he worries he’s taken away her spotlight by being there. But they don’t take much notice of him and go straight to her, politely asking for autographs and tips for their own dancing.

“Don’t worry if you get anything wrong, my loves. You will make mistakes, you will hurt yourselves, but it’s the getting back up and carrying on that makes the mistakes worth it. And make sure you surround yourself with people who are proud of you, that’s important.” Her eyes flickered up to Timothee as she said that, mischief and love filled. 

“I want to be like you when I’m older,” One of the smallest of the group admits, she can’t be more than four. In a little pink tutu and ribbons in her hair, he wonders if he’s looking at what his love once looked like when she was younger. Did she look up to someone like this girl looks up to her? 

The group disperse after a group hug, leaving her blushing and bashful. With one more kiss, which could have easily turned into something far more heated, he mutters one last I love you and lets her go.


End file.
